


you, at last

by Timeskipped



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: A3! Act 8 Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Found Family, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, vague kniroun spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timeskipped/pseuds/Timeskipped
Summary: Citron knows from the start that soulmates aren’t a thing he’s allowed to have. (Until, at last, they are.)
Relationships: Citron & Guy (A3!), Citron & Spring Troupe (A3!)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 36





	you, at last

Citron is aware from a young age exactly what soulmates are.

His hands are stained with color from holding his brother’s hand, the first time he properly sees him, pulling him off to a different place in the palace. Tangerine is small and cute, and he looks down at the lime green that appears on his skin where Citron’s hands were. A similar color is on Citron’s palms, in the fingerprints on the back of his hand.

“Soulmate marks,” Citron says, as the color slowly fades away. He looks at it with reverence; he’s seen it before, on other people, but never on himself. Not even when he touched his other brothers.

When soulmates touch each other, the color appears. A soulmate mark, just for the two of them.

Tangerine’s eyes are shining. He’s a few years younger, so maybe he doesn’t _get it,_ but Citron does—and that’s all that matters, because he and Tangerine are going to be best friends!

The garden around them seems to buzz with life as Citron laughs, loudly. The sound seems to summon an attendant, her eyes getting wide when she realizes just who these two children in the garden are. She rushes over, kneeling and telling Citron to quiet, to come back inside and not take Tangerine out again without supervision.

Citron complies, because she’s an adult, and the adults around him know a lot about what he’s supposed to be. He follows every word.

Her eyes linger on the fading color on their hands.

* * *

“Nii-sama,” Tangerine says with a brightness that suits him so well, “you have something in your hair.” Citron’s hands jump to his hair, but Tangerine frowns and reaches over to take it out himself, his hand brushing on Citron’s hairline.

Tangerine’s hand comes away with green on the knuckles and a leaf in his fist.

“Thank you, Tangerine,” Citron says, practicing his formal tone. It sits weirdly on his tongue.

Citron’s childhood has been a series of rules and lessons, normal to him, but not something even his own brothers would experience. Citron is the crown prince, after all, and Tangerine is not; Tangerine can go out in public with Citron’s lime green fading on his skin, but Citron doesn’t have the same luxury.

_Never show weakness,_ or something like that. People are against him, and Citron knows that soulmates are too large a showing for a prince to have, when they’re supposed to be living for their country.

Citron _wants_ to live for Zahra. He wants to so badly it feels like it’s crawling under his skin, making sure he can never forget his purpose.

But all that changes when he’s with Tangerine. So Citron holds out a hand to his brother and smiles widely when the colors still bloom beautifully. It’s fainter than before, but it’s still there, still a reminder that they are and always will be soulmates. He’s sure that Tangerine can tell, too, that it’s fading as Citron gets more and more used to hiding it, willing it away when he becomes well and truly the crown prince.

Tangerine snuck into his room last night, just to talk. Citron thinks he was afraid of losing him, the way he leaned into him too purposeful to be accidental.

His blue eyes had been wide, searching for _something._

Citron thinks he knows. He thinks he wants to save this connection, to keep his brother safe and happy, to make sure that Tangerine is always okay with being his soulmate. Citron doesn’t know how long he’s been wanting this. Maybe from the first time he held Tangerine’s hand.

Tangerine smiles at him. Citron knows that someday this will end, no matter what he desires.

* * *

Citron wants to be soulmates with Guy.

Citron has learned not to force touching people to check if they’re soulmates; it’s something that’ll come naturally, if at all. But he can’t help but be fascinated by the possibility, something he knows he’s not allowed to have. It’s something even Guy reminds him of, on occasions he reads books about soulmates rather than books on kingcraft.

He stumbles over words he doesn’t know in both types of books, but he grasps kingcraft better—that’s how it’s supposed to be. Guy, in turn, does his duty and tells him the definitions.

The book on soulmates is small but detailed. The language used is fine and understandable for him, but he lies and tells Guy that there’s another one he can’t quite read, and takes the opportunity to press Guy’s switch when he comes near.

Skin against skin. This has happened before, when they met, but Citron had still been trying to suppress his own soul. It should be different now.

He knows he shouldn’t force soulmates, but the thought boils inside him, that Guy is human, that Guy could be his friend, that Guy isn’t the android he claims to be and never was, and how _fascinating_ that was at first. That’s why he looked into Guy’s personal history, in the beginning, but with that fascination washed away, Citron knows now that all he wants is a _friend._

Friendship with Guy would be strange. Guy might smile, and not in the robotic way he smiles when Citron tells him to. Guy would look at the jasmines and love them as much as Citron does.

But there is no soulmate mark left on Guy’s skin; no bursting color greets Citron’s eyes.

No matter how hard he stares, drawing ugly jasmines over and over on him before turning Guy back on and pretending it never happened, nothing happens. Guilt simmers underneath his skin, like this is a secret he’ll never be able to admit to anyone.

And when he thinks again, with Guy reminding him again to not press the switch, he probably _won’t_ be able to. He’s Prince Citronia, and princes don’t keep their soulmates openly.

At the same time, there’s a part of him, even as a child desperate for freedom and friendship, throwing himself into the thought of finding a way to alleviate Guy of the robotic burden he carries. Citron learns about the world, and about Japan, and all the ways he might be able to provoke Guy into a human reaction.

If they _are_ somehow soulmates, Citron holds onto the idea that Guy must be burying it in a way greater than Citron is.

(When he makes his way to Japan, he tells himself that he will let himself have soulmate marks, that he won’t hide them if they come up. If Guy comes to Japan and a soulmate mark appears on them there, then Citron will know that they succeeded in feeling their real emotions.

If not, then Citron and Guy were never meant to be friends in the first place. The thought is too depressing to linger on.)

* * *

Tangerine left his soulmate mark on Citron when he left, but it wasn’t on purpose.

Tangerine’s careful hands brushed his neck during the kind of hug that came so naturally to the two of them, dancing carefully around the fact that if people watched them, knowing they were soulmates, they’d think of Citron differently, further from the unshakable prince he was built up to be. But they still let the marks happen, because Citron could suppress it, anyway.

Citron doesn’t force the color off his skin, this time. He covers the mark with cloth and makeup as he flees, because he _knows_ this is the last time he’ll see Tangerine in the year until the coronation.

It’ll fade. That much is true, Citron knows, his own fingers touching the last mark he’ll have from his brother and only soulmate for a long, long time. He’ll slowly watch it melt away as the days continue; Citron knows already that he’ll hate it, but until then he wants to keep the green on his neck there.

As long as it’ll stay.

The moment he steps into Japan, he removes the cloth over his neck. He is no longer Prince Citronia, graceful and immovable, with no weak spots to exploit. He is Citron, an exchange student with a soulmate he misses deeply, and homesickness already reaching through him and grabbing at his heart.

When Sakuya sees the mark, he gives a half-smile, and asks if Citron came to Japan recently.

“Yes,” Citron says. “I came here for adventure and fun, but my soulmate is still out there, at home.” It’s said lightly, but he still doesn’t think it’s light enough; he reapplies the silliness he wants to use to interact with Sakuya afterwards, like a second humorous shield.

He thinks he sees something in Sakuya; reaching for Citron, even as Citron emotionally shies away.

* * *

When Citron takes hold of Sakuya’s shoulders to spin him around, there is no soulmate mark. It’s to be expected, especially since Sakuya wears layers, and soulmate marks are fickle things through clothes; if you forget they exist under the fabric, then they disappear. Without skin contact, you’re less likely to find a mark.

Sakuya bumps into a man—Itaru, he introduces himself as—and there is still no soulmate mark. When Izumi shakes Itaru’s hand, there’s no soulmate mark to be found. To Citron, this doesn’t even seem strange; this is simply a whim on his grand adventure, and he’d never been allowed these things.

In the end, he’ll have to go back home. Finding a soulmate in Japan would be nice, and yet it’s impossible.

(Does it matter that part of the reason he became interested in the country was because of the text on an official document stating that Gai Nishiki was from this very same place? No, Citron thinks, it doesn’t. Because he and Guy aren’t soulmates, however much Citron wishes. The most he can ever hope for is friendship, if that.)

Itaru is pleasant, and Sakuya is cute, and Tsuzuru is fun to play with, and even Masumi is endearing underneath his standoffish-ness. That doesn’t make them soulmates, or anything else.

But Citron is wrong.

He touches Sakuya’s hand, briefly, and while Citron doesn’t look closer, Sakuya freezes on the spot.

Tsuzuru’s eyebrows furrow, looking at him, at how he stares at his palm. “Are you—Hey!” Sakuya takes Tsuzuru’s hand, jumping forward.

“We…” Sakuya breathes, pink eyes wide and caught on his own skin. “We’re soulmates.”

Izumi’s head snaps over. Sakuya holds up his hand for her, with lime green and teal patches, already fading, the latter far more saturated than the former. Citron’s eyes drop to his own hand, at the pink there, and Tsuzuru does the same.

Sakuya grabs Masumi’s hand next, and cheers at the blooming color. His cheeks are flushed, even as Masumi pushes him away rudely with a hand on the other boy’s face, leaving a purple mark. Masumi’s next course of action, of course, is to try and grab for Izumi to check if they’re soulmates, a move which she deftly avoids.

When Sakuya grabs Itaru’s hand, no color appears on either of them. Sakuya frowns and apologizes.

Itaru just shrugs, but when Sakuya turns away, Citron sees him staring sadly at the fingers that were touched so gently by Sakuya. There’s something pained in his expression, which Citron takes note of, but doesn’t think too hard about, too caught up in the realization that joining this troupe will have a greater effect than he thought on his life.

Sakuya doesn’t seem deterred in his joy even from that, and Citron lets him press their palms together and watch the color fill in, even as Citron notes that the green fades much faster than the other colors, even the purple still tinging Sakuya’s nose.

* * *

The night after Citron moves in, all of his precious new items placed into the bedroom he now shares with Sakuya, he hears Sakuya’s breath hitch. There’s silence again, in the darkness of the room, but Citron listens carefully.

Sakuya’s breath hitches into a sob once more. Citron rolls onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Sakuya?” he asks.

A breath inwards follows Citron’s quiet word, and Sakuya shuffles in his blankets, head popping up out of them after a few minutes. His hair is messed up in his silhouette, but in the darkness Citron can’t see if there are any tears on his face.

Sharing a room is a new experience, and so is comforting someone who’s crying for a reason Citron doesn’t know.

“Citron. I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

Citron shakes his head, hoping that Sakuya’s eyes are adjusted enough to see that much. “No, you didn’t. Are you okay?” He keeps his voice gentle. This is a soulmate of his, just as Tangerine is, and Citron doesn’t want to mess up something so precious.

“I-I’m fine.” Sakuya’s stutter is unconvincing. “Really. I was just thinking about soulmates, and how all of us but Itaru are destined to be close, and—and I just got emotional. Nothing big. Nothing at all.” His breath hitches again.

It’s not fair, Citron thinks. _Not fair at all._ Not fair that Sakuya’s getting emotional about something as simple as a soulmate, and not fair that Citron will inevitably have to leave. He can already tell it’ll be hard, to watch this moment slip through his fingers. To let go of a hand, of _several hands_ painted in Citron’s own color.

He can barely allow himself to hope that this isn’t a dream, a lovely dream that he’ll find people who he doesn’t have to be a king around. People who he can let himself be soulmates without consequences.

“It’ll be okay, Sakuya,” Citron says. “You’ll be able to find many more soulmates. You’ll have enough to fill the entire dorms with!” Sakuya deserves that, and much more, too.

Sakuya sniffles. “Thanks, Citron. I was really lonely, before, but now I think… Now I think I’ll never be lonely again. G-Goodnight.” He’s still crying as he pulls back under his blankets, though, and Citron waits in silence for his breathing to even out before rolling over himself and staring once more at the ceiling.

In the darkness of the dorm, Citron smiles bittersweetly. He’s happy that Sakuya is happy, at least.

* * *

_Soulmate connections can be severed,_ Citron remembers reading once. _It takes both soulmates wanting to sever the connection to do so._

Considering everything else about soulmates, it makes sense. One’s emotions are a part of it. That’s why his mark tends to fade quicker than the others do; because Citron is so used to suppressing his own marks, the others are affected as well.

“Are they soulmates?” Sakuya asks Tsuzuru, the instant he looks up from the script he just picked up. The title reads _Romeo & Julius_ in strong bold print, and Citron thinks of love and death at the simple combination of words. It must be a tragedy—not something Citron ever expected to act in, despite having seen plays of this genre before.

“Yes. There’s a plot point about them hiding it,” Tsuzuru says, and Citron’s blood runs cold.

“So it’s some kind of romance?” Masumi asks, oblivious to the way Citron is forcing himself not to frown. Masumi’s eyes flicker over to Izumi, as if for approval in his deduction.

“It’s a story about friendship,” Izumi corrects. “Most soulmates _aren’t_ romantic, after all.”

“I decided to change the genre from the classic Romeo and Juliet and make it more hopeful,” Tsuzuru explains, and Citron feels the anxiety in his chest loosening, as if the implication that hiding their marks wouldn’t lead to their deaths was all he needed. “I was actually writing while thinking of someone, actually. We actually, er, stopped being soulmates, but I thought it would be better if Romeo and Julius stayed like they were.”

Itaru flips through the script. “They think their connection was severed, but it’s still there, huh?” Itaru comments, pink eyes flickering up to meet Tsuzuru’s.

If Citron didn’t know better, he’d ask about Tsuzuru’s ex-soulmate, about what made their connection fall apart. Tsuzuru’s eyes fall away from Itaru’s, and tension weighs on his shoulders. If Citron had to guess, he’d say that Tsuzuru is projecting onto the characters; he probably doesn’t want the connection to be gone, either.

It might be too optimistic, but Citron pushes away his discomfort in the idea of hiding a soulmate. “Soulmates aren’t torn so easily,” Citron grins. The others look at him with raised eyebrows (Izumi and Tsuzuru) and with a warm smile (Sakuya) and with relative disinterest (Masumi and Itaru).

(He wonders if maybe his connections with the others will be torn to shreds, eventually. And if not, what will become of it in the end?)

* * *

“I want to be soulmates with her,” Masumi says. His headphones are tugged down around his neck, but he rolls the cord between his fingers.

“I know,” Tsuzuru says, with a different kind of long-suffering tone than the type he uses with Citron. With Citron, Tsuzuru is half-incredulous, but with Masumi, it’s like Tsuzuru knows all too well that Masumi is going through a type of teenage lovesickness that Tsuzuru himself may or may not have experienced.

“I don’t think Izumi is soulmates with any of us right now,” Citron chimes in, “and you can’t make someone your soulmate.” He belatedly realizes how _serious_ he sounds.

Tsuzuru’s eyes are very wide when he turns to stare. Masumi’s are less so, blinking twice in Citron’s direction before continuing to fiddle with his headphones. “I know that,” Masumi grumbles, “but if we’re already meant to be, then—”

Citron holds up a hand on impulse, and, surprisingly, that effectively stops Masumi in his tracks. “The best thing you can do is wait for the colors to appear.”

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” Tsuzuru says, sighing and stretching his arms above his head. His neck cracks from side to side, and Masumi cringes watching him do it. “At handling both Masumi _and_ knowing about soulmates.”

“I don’t need to be _handled._ I’m not like you.”

“Yes you do,” Tsuzuru rolls his eyes. Citron finds himself grinning, but Masumi just huffs and doesn’t respond. He doesn't put his headphones on, either.

“That aside,” Tsuzuru says, “knowing a lot about the specifics on soulmates would come in handy for writing. Maybe I should do more research, if it’s going to appear as a common theme.” Citron nods, counting in his head the number of plays they’ve already done with soulmates as a plot point. Romeo & Julius was one, Water Me! another, and Sympathy for the Angel also had it as a central theme. Already three of four.

Citron is no writer, but he imagines that Tsuzuru will do well with soulmates.

“I’ll assist any time, Tsuzuru!” Citron grins.

“I don’t know if you’d be much help,” Tsuzuru replies dryly, which causes Citron to leap up and put his arms around Masumi’s shoulders.

“How cruel to say that to your mother, and in front of your brother, too!” Citron wails, “You’ll ruin his impression of me!” He shakes Masumi a bit, and Masumi though holds onto his headphones, he doesn’t make any move to stop him.

Masumi glares up at him. “I don’t have a good impression of _either_ of you.”

Tsuzuru gives Masumi a glance not unlike another eyeroll. If it were anyone outside Mankai, they might be hurt by Masumi’s comments, but by now all of them know that Masumi puts on the act of not caring while slowly warming up to them. He might not treat them anything like Izumi, but he surely cares for them.

They’re soulmates, aren’t they? Similar in soul, or maybe complimentary in some way. They found each other in this wide world.

Citron looks at Masumi’s desperate desire to matter to Izumi and sees himself, unable to truly connect the way he wants with his attendant. But Citron, like Masumi, can’t take the hand of the one they want to be close to and expect a splash of color to appear on their skin. It took Citron too long to realize that he could still be connected to Guy even without being soulmates, and he doesn’t want Masumi to be trapped in the same way.

Citron pats Masumi on the head. When Masumi gives him a concerned glance, Citron just says, quiet enough that Tsuzuru can’t hear, “You can still care for her even if you find out you’re never destined. And I’m sure that’ll be enough for her.”

Masumi looks away, but doesn’t complain.

* * *

“I had a soulmate once,” Itaru says idly, one day, not long after their run of first plays has finished. “Didn’t go anywhere. We never lost that connection or anything, last I saw of him, but,” he pauses, and the room is filled instead with the sound of clicking keys. He huffs out a breath, shoulders slumping. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and I don’t _want_ to see him again. What do I know about our connection? He’s probably forgotten about me.”

“Forgotten about you?” Citron questions, as his character falls off a cliff from a mistimed button pressing combo. “How could anyone forget about you?”

Itaru’s character falls off the cliff, right after Citron’s.

His eyes are wide, mouth open. He sucks in a breath, then goes back to the game, clicking away again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His jaw clenches, and Citron watches him for a minute longer until Itaru groans at him to start playing again.

The silence settles around them for a bit longer. Then, Itaru opens his mouth slowly. “Thanks. I don’t know how you can say things like that, but…”

Itaru is biting his lip when Citron looks over at him again. The split second is enough to give Itaru an edge, and Itaru’s character races ahead of Citron’s winning the game at last as Citron finds himself too far behind to catch up.

“Yes! I did it! Suck it!” Despite his harsh words, Itaru is grinning with only kindness.

So Citron puts down his controller and claps his hands. “The gaming master Taruchi has done it again!” He watches as Itaru’s excitement washes the tension from his body, and he leans back against the couch easily. “I said it because it’s important to me,” Citron clarifies his previous words. “I need you to know that you’re a member of Spring Troupe too. Even though you’re not our soulmate.”

“A member of Spring Troupe…” Itaru drops his own controller, flexing his fingers. “Well, I can’t deny that. I’m here to stay, you know?”

The room is dark. Citron settles back on the couch.

“And I _want_ to be soulmates,” Itaru confesses, staring at his own hands. “But you’ve seen me. You saw what happened when Sakuya grabbed my hand that first time, and nothing appeared—he was disappointed, and I can’t even blame him.”

Citron doesn’t know what to say. Not really.

“I want to be soulmates with you,” Itaru repeats, “and maybe we are—I feel like I could let myself be a part of this, but if that disappointment happens again…”

“You care about Sakuya,” Citron says as Itaru trails off. The light from the monitor makes Itaru’s movements look sharper as he nods, firmly and immediately. Citron grins. “We all do, but you should be more confident, Itaru! You’re cared for by him, which is better than soulmatism!”

Itaru snorts. “You made up that word.”

“I did,” Citron says, and reaches for Itaru’s face, slow enough to let him shy away if he wants. He doesn’t, though, and Citron brushes Itaru’s hair to the side, brushing his knuckles against Itaru’s skin like he and Tangerine used to, a small comfort, a half-accident.

Green blooms on Itaru’s forehead, melting away quickly. Citron shows Itaru his knuckles, and even in the low light, Itaru clearly sees the fading pink by the way his eyes widen.

“We’re…”

“Soulmates,” Citron finishes, as Itaru grabs his hand, fingers warm against Citron’s skin. The pink following his touch is the same color as Itaru’s eyes, Citron realizes. “I used to not believe I could be soulmates with people too,” Citron confesses quietly, still smiling.

“What? You?” Itaru’s eyes are softer than usual, his smile hesitant.

“It’s not important,” Citron shakes his head. “My soulmate marks fade quickly. That’s all.” It’s not all, but Citron doesn’t know how to tell Itaru, who treats him so normally, that Citron is going to leave.

Itaru takes his hand away from Citron and watches the color fade. “Huh,” he says. “So it does. But you know, that doesn’t mean anything.” He smiles giddily, like finding out they’re soulmates has brought him back to when he was young and free. “You and I—Spring Troupe and I, probably, I’ll have to check if I’m soulmates with them—don’t need our soulmate marks to show a bunch to know we belong.”

“True,” Citron smiles. Something beats in his chest alongside his heart. Love wells up inside him for the family he’s found himself in. He hadn’t realized how attached to them he’d gotten until now, at this moment.

(Itaru touches Sakuya’s hand the next morning, in the kitchen. When pink appears on both their hands, Sakuya, too, smiles like he’s _free_ and _happy._ )

* * *

Chikage keeps a distance between himself and everyone else. It’s become usual for Sakuya to touch someone’s hand, even just barely, just to tell if they’re soulmates, and with Chikage, as expected, nothing appears.

Citron can tell that Sakuya is holding out hope for something more—something like Itaru’s situation, whatever that may mean for Chikage.

The two of them find each other touching in small places; Citron might also secretly be wishing for a connection, but he’s never been the one who gets them. All that suppression of soulmates from _before_ still seeps into the colors sometimes, even as they grow more and more vivid with each passing play. But for Citron and Chikage, even Citron throwing an arm around his shoulder isn’t enough to wake color on their skin.

Except that sometimes it’s not that simple. Chikage keeps his distance, but one day—during the early run of Oz, right after the first show—Citron sees pink on Chikage’s hand for just a moment when Sakuya brushes against him, where there hadn’t been any before.

Citron blinks. It’s gone.

The rushed practice hasn’t been easy, but Citron likes to think they’re slowly getting closer. Hopefully, eventually, Citron can understand what he and Chikage really _are._

He gets the chance, not long later. Citron looks at as sleeping Chikage, his glasses folded beside him, breathing steadily under his futon. It would be so easy to test if they’re soulmates now, when he’s sleeping and vulnerable.

But he doesn’t. He just joins the other Spring Troupe members in crawling next to him and Sakuya, like their family is only complete by sleeping on this stage and feeling the way the love for theater seeps into them from the floor they lie on. Citron ends up practically on top of Chikage, wondering if Chikage knows he’s soulmates with Sakuya.

When Citron wakes up again, he finds light blue on the side of his face where Izumi tells him Chikage touched him and moved his head over.

Sakuya stays glued to Chikage’s side, grinning and smiling. The rest of the troupe, too, find their ways to be by Chikage’s side, to remind him one way or another that their family is real and welcoming for him, that they’ll never want him to leave again.

Citron welcomes him into the family with warm arms, but he also knows that there’s more to Chikage than what he shows. It seems that he and Citron are both liars, another similarity in their souls.

* * *

Hisoka and Chikage have a strange relationship, one that none of Mankai—sans perhaps Izumi—understands. Citron is glad, though, that Chikage isn’t alone, that he’s opened his heart to Mankai and to Hisoka. Even when he acts disgusted by the dark blue brushed onto the skin of his knuckles when he drags Hisoka inside, Citron thinks he’s happy.

He hasn’t asked. But if Citron himself is any indication, treasuring the colors of his soul despite the years of repressing it, then Chikage _must_ be similar. Right?

“Are you happy here?” Citron asks, upside down on the couch and blood rushing to his head. It makes the world feel fuzzy, and he thinks that this act of childishness will allow him to speak the words he needs to say. Citron’s eyes stay pinned on Chikage, who looks up with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course I am,” his lip quirks up slightly.

“And with Hisoka?”

At this, Chikage’s gaze drops away from Citron’s. It’s not as if he’s frowning, but he seems a little distant, spinning the ring on his left hand. “Yes.” Short. Not indicative of anything important.

Citron hums. “You’re soulmates with him, yes?” Prod gently, he thinks. Don’t push too much. Let him back away if he needs to. With the more direct approach, Citron pulls himself upright again, blinking as he readjusts. Chikage’s eyes are back on him when he looks back.

“Does it matter what he is to me?” Chikage sighs. “ _We’re_ soulmates, you know. Don’t you have someone you’re soulmates with who you have a complicated relationship with? Soulmates don’t necessarily make you happy just by being there. To be happy with them is to make a real bond, not just relying on your status as the same soul.”

“Like Spring Troupe becoming a family!” Citron exclaims.

He doesn’t have a complicated soulmate. Maybe his soul is too untethered by the concerns of his country to make his soulmate's relationship strange; the thought hurts, because he’s living his whole life for Zahra. But his soulmates are, for the most part, unaware of that.

A sunny boy who wants a family. A scriptwriter with a soulmate far away. A boy who cries out for their help when he’s not worrying about his one sided love. A man who calls himself childish. And Chikage; a man with a past that Citron is unaware of, a mystery in himself, but not one that Citron has confided his princehood in. Tangerine is the only soulmate who knows, and Citron can still recall the way Tangerine, when they were both younger and more innocent, had no idea about the trials the throne was causing Citron.

Maybe Citron is isolated from everyone by these simple feelings. He’s been able to make a lifetime’s worth of memories from this uncomplicated relationship, and maybe that’s the thing his soul needed. Maybe this journey is all he has.

Citron’s soulmates are different from Chikage’s; simply by being there, Citron has found himself a home outside the one he knew for so long.

* * *

(In the darkness, Citron smiles at Guy and greets him, welcoming him to Japan for the first and last time. He thinks he’d _want_ to have a complicated relationship with a soulmate, if that soulmate could be Guy. If that meant that Guy could be more than just an android.

He reaches out, skin unmarked for the moment, knowing that his own body will allow himself to have soulmate marks. His skin stays like it is; clean, without a soulmate mark in sight. Guy’s skin is the same.

Guy is not Citron’s soulmate. Citron’s time in Japan has left him with the knowledge that Guy is not to be his friend, as much as Citron wants him to be; Guy will continue as an android as Citron departs. Maybe Citron is cruel and selfish for wanting Guy to be his soulmate, just so that they can be friends.

Even if they were soulmates, it wouldn’t change anything, just like Chikage said. Still, it fills Citron’s heart with sadness.)

* * *

Citron chooses Chikage to help him leave because he thinks they understand each other.

For one last day, Citron allows himself to soak up the light of Japan, and he lets himself be near Chikage, too. Citron knows that if he were to reach for Chikage’s hand—if he felt he could—he would find a brilliant blue and green color where their fingers meet.

And Citron will have to leave Chikage after a shorter time together than the others.

He doesn’t reach for Chikage’s hand. Doesn’t allow himself a cruel comfort, a single selfish act that would leave a needless tie to a country he won’t be able to return to. As much as Citron wants to wait, to stop time, the world is still spinning, and Citron is spinning with it.

He’s going to have to repress his soulmate marks again, shifting back into the old skin of his. And he will be fine with it; most of his soulmates will be across an ocean, and Guy will be with them. Citron won’t be able to test if he’s his soulmate again.

“How many people are you soulmates with?” Citron asks. The radio is playing low in the car. It’s not enough to drown out Citron’s voice, and they both know it.

“I don’t know if I can answer that,” Chikage says.

The lack of talking isn’t silent enough; the drone of a crackling voice from the radio fills the space, and leaves Citron wanting for an answer he’s not going to push for. This is the only goodbye he’s allowing himself to have, and Chikage is distant enough that this silence will be a good enough departure in itself, no matter how unsatisfied Citron is with that.

The engine shuts off. Chikage’s hand is still on the wheel, until it isn’t anymore, and Chikage leans over to gesture Citron out of the car. He jolts—he hadn’t realized he’d frozen.

The airport is cool, and bright. It washes the two of them in light as they say their final goodbyes. Citron wishes it wasn’t the end, really. But here they are, across from each other. Chikage hands Citron a suitcase he’d been carrying: a last, silent gesture of kindness.

“Take care of them for me?” Citron says, and resists reaching for Chikage’s hand one last time.

Chikage nods, and Citron wonders if Chikage knows that he doesn’t only mean Spring Troupe, but also all of Mankai, and Guy too. Citron wonders if Chikage will get to see the true depth of Guy’s emotions in Citron’s place—if soulmates truly are pieces of the same soul, then surely Chikage watching Guy bloom will be enough for Citron’s soul, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

When Citron steps onto the away flight, he decides that he can only hope for their happiness, since he can’t help them himself. With that thought, he begins to rebuild the walls he toppled within Mankai.

* * *

The theater is dark, but light fills the stage like Citron has seen so many times before. At this point, he’s more used to the other side of things, where he stood on the stage countless times with his former troupe members; otherwise, in his childhood, he took part in culture and leisure to some degree by watching the plays put on at events such as this.

This is his coronation, he reminds himself. The thing he’s been preparing for in so many little ways, the thing that has created him as a person. _Citronia_ is no longer an actor.

But he can’t help but to watch the plays and admire the acting. The way their voices put emphasis on certain sentences, the large movements to show their emotion despite the slight language barrier—Zahran subtitles have been provided, but it’s not the same as understanding it perfectly. The actors work efficiently to create a whole world for Citron to watch.

It wasn’t like this before. He used to admire actors, but he never felt like he could imagine the amount of effort and practice, so vivid he could reach back and hear Izumi’s voice again, directing him once more.

The curtains fall. Citron feels the applause wash over him, and closes his eyes.

When he opens them, the stage is empty.

Citron has felt lonely before. In Mankai, too, homesickness would follow him everywhere, and he fought against it with everything he had, surrounding himself with people and soulmates and other company members. He loved Mankai, but it took a while before it became a second home.

When Tsumugi steps onstage, somehow, the stage feels lonelier than anything Citron has ever seen, like something is flooding, spilling out from his heart that he’s desperate to stop. Citron has been trying to forget Mankai, but Tsumugi, and then other members of Winter Troupe, and then Guy, at last—

Mankai is here for Citron. Citron has never felt so grateful.

Then, from the side, a soldier enters: _“There is someone who would like to speak with you. Apparently, they are an old acquaintance. I was told that you would understand who I was speaking of.”_

And Citron stands to follow.

* * *

(The world is dark, under the stage. It’s nothing like the bright rush of backstage, the nerves wringing themselves as Tsuzuru muttered lines under his breath, as Itaru did a last round in his game, as Sakuya took deep breaths, and Masumi straightened his appearance for the last time. Chikage, during the Oz performances, also took a spot in their preparations, silently looking them over.

Citron wonders if he’ll see their faces again.

Fear drips slowly through his body as time goes by. The space is dark and heavy, oppressive and cold. Citron has known fear—has been aware of extremists, and aware of his position, and aware that he has to run, or leave, or fly away or else never see Tangerine again. This is not new, except that he’s _now_ aware that he fell into a trap.

Citron imagines colors.

He imagines standing among the jasmines with Guy. Remembers reaching out and trying, desperately, to know what having a soulmate you could actually show felt like.

But even with Guy, Citron couldn’t find out. He couldn’t show Guy the care for him he wanted.

Citron has always been trying to be strong, to be selfless, to be everything his people wanted. All Citron himself wanted was to be free, and to help people, people like Guy. Soulmate or not, Citron left Guy behind. In the darkness, Citron wonders if Guy is still performing, and if he likes the stage as much as Citron did.)

* * *

Itaru’s face is the first thing he sees when he wakes up.

It’s still dark. It’s so dark it feels like it’ll swallow them, and Citron knows that the only thing he can do now is be thankful that Mankai—Itaru, at least, and Chikage behind him—has come to save him, hovering over him with a concerned look in his eyes.

“Oh, good,” Itaru says, leaning close, “you're okay.” His eyes jump around Citron's face as if checking that he’s really correct in his assumption. Still, despite his eyebrows being pressed together, his face seems to be schooled into practiced calm. “Hang in there, alright?”

“We need to go. We can’t stay here,” Chikage says, and when Citron tilts his head towards him, he looks serious and almost angry. _Desperate._ “Can you stand? Let’s get you out.”

Citron takes a breath. “Of course,” he says, lifting himself up. Itaru helps him regardless, gently taking his hand and supporting his weight, and Chikage hovers nearby. Chikage keeps looking around, like the guards that used to protect Citron did.

No, not _used_ to. They still do. He’s still the crown prince, and he shouldn’t be here. _They_ shouldn’t be here. But they are anyway, and it’s overwhelming.

“You really made us worry,” Itaru says softly, watching the pink on Citron's hands where he's holding his, pulling him along as they run. “First you're a prince, and then this?” He's smiling as he says this, but it strains at the corners. “You’re almost like a damsel in distress.”

“Don’t joke right now,” Chikage says, just as blunt as Citron expected; Citron breathes out through his nose in an almost-laugh at how _familiar_ they are.

“Sorry,” Citron breathes. He squeezes Itaru’s hand. “Let's go.”

His soulmate marks shouldn't be showing up. He should be locking it away better than this, but just seeing Itaru and Chikage’s concerned faces have filled him with overflowing relief, and he knows that his soulmates saving his life is better than leaving Tangerine alone—

_Tangerine._

Citron closes his eyes. He doesn’t have time to worry about him, as much as he wants to. “How did you learn about this place?”

Itaru shoots Chikage a glance. Chikage smiles. “I wonder. Now’s not the time for that, I’m afraid. I can tell you later, but for now we need to go to Guy.” Citron’s heart lodges itself firmly in his throat as they follow Chikage’s words and reunite with Guy.

From there, it goes like this: Citron’s reunion with Guy isn’t anything special; there’s no tearful hug or exaggerated grin. Just a freezing fear that everything will fall apart before they can find their way to fix things. They barely even have the chance to look at each other when Citron enters the backstage area with Itaru and Chikage by his side.

“Everybody, get down!” Chikage yells, only a moment before the chandelier falls.

In the chaos afterwards, Citron realizes that he’s watching the attempted assassination for him from the outside, and watches as everyone is saved from it. He can’t save them himself; his breathing too labored, simply watching them nearly hurt themselves, trying to save themselves from _his_ mess.

Itaru and Chikage keep supporting Citron’s sides, making sure he doesn’t fall down. Sakuya is the first to walk onstage, and all of Winter follows. Guy, illuminated in the brilliance of the fire, looks like a shadow. A phantom.

Citron closes his eyes as Tangerine’s voice cries out instructions for the audience to be saved.

* * *

Everything is okay. Citron wakes up and reunites with everyone, and even later, Citron stands with Guy in the palace like they haven’t done in so long. It’s after Citron has been stripped of his right to the throne, a burden from his shoulders, and when the plane has been booked, 13 tickets back to Japan. Citron feels himself relax the longer it sits with him.

“I’ll go back,” Citron says, quietly, Zahran flowing easily from his tongue. “I’ll get to be with my troupe. My soulmates.” He holds his palm to his chest, as if to feel his own heartbeat, or to confirm that this is real.

When he looks at his palm, he sees the pink from Sakuya’s mark, still lingering there from where he grabbed his hands and cried, because Citron was _back._

“I’m soulmates with the Winter Troupe, too,” Guy says. His face isn’t blank like how Citron remembers he used to be; instead, his lips are pulled into a gentle smile.

Citron feels relief well inside him, overflowing and calming him. Guy is okay. Guy is human, as he was always meant to be, with soulmates who care for him. “That’s good,” he says. It’s more than he had hoped for, when he left; he hadn’t expected to ever know if Guy found a home there, too. They’ve found their way back to each other, which means that Citron can see Guy’s soul show itself.

“It is,” Guy smiles, following Citron back to the others. Winter Troupe surrounds him with smiles.

Citron smiles gently, too, watching him go to them. Mankai’s family extending to include Guy makes perfect sense; it’s just how all of them are, overflowing with enough love to take Guy as he is, full of souls both connected and separate.

They’ll be going back to Japan, soon. Going _home._

* * *

Guy finds Citron outside, breathing in the air of Japan. He holds his phone in his hand, the call just ended, but the joy of the international call not yet faded.

“Were you calling Prince Tangerine?” are the first words Guy says, and Citron properly turns to him. Guy stands near him instead of sitting down, so Citron gestures next to him, letting Guy settle beside him when he gets the message and moves to sit. Even if Mankai is organizing a party, they can spend a little more time out here.

It’s a second, less important party, after all; Citron’s welcome back party was a week ago, but Kazunari felt it necessary to create a he’s-been-back-for-a-week party, which Sakyo complained was just an excuse to _have_ a party at all. He was right, but Citron wasn’t about to complain.

Guy didn’t complain either, accepting the party and the reminder that Citron left. Though if he did eventually come back, so Citron supposes complaining wouldn’t be very productive.

“I did call him, and he’s doing well,” Citron says. “They confirmed that he’ll be king to the public, and he’s—” Citron pauses. He doesn’t know how to feel about Tangerine taking over as King, still. “He seems to be taking it well. I’m glad to talk to him again. I couldn’t, before.”

“I see,” Guy responds simply.

The silence they lapse into isn’t uncomfortable, but Citron still thinks of going back to the party. It is for him, after all, isn’t it? He’s so lucky to have friends and soulmates that think of him so much.

The warmth builds inside of him.

“Citronia,” Guy cuts in, and Citron can only smile at him as he continues. “At first, I didn’t think I’d be able to be soulmates with anyone.” His eyebrows lower. “Because I thought I was an android. Of course, I know now. And then, with Winter Troupe…”

“How did you find out?” Citron asks gently. His heart aches.

Guy looks away, and he smiles. His hand is drawn close to his chest. “We found out on accident. Yukishiro touched my hand, days after I stopped believing that I was an android, and then the others pointed it out; Arisugawa said something about _fate._ I thought it was nice. Fate, that is.”

Citron can’t help but agree. The idea of fate used to be so distant, that there were people waiting for you somewhere, but now Citron can’t believe that Spring Troupe _wouldn’t_ be waiting for him, again and again.

Sakuya welcomed him home back in Japan after missing him for so long with tears brimming in his eyes, and that night he clutched Citron’s sleeve and asked for a story. Tsuzuru came into Citron’s room to ask a question about the script, and stayed even when Citron annoyed him. Masumi brought music and headphones and sat on the floor. Itaru came in for a gacha pull from Sakuya, and passed Citron a small handheld game as an excuse to stay. Chikage followed him, and asked Citron if he wanted to go out the next day.

They fell asleep on the floor of 101 together, wrapped in blankets, colors on their skin; bright and pale pink, purple, teal, blue, and green all over their hands, and the place where Citron patted Masumi on the head and brushed his forehead, and where Itaru nudged Citron with his elbow, and where Citron poked Tsuzuru on the cheek.

Soulmates are warm, like phone calls across the ocean and hearing his brother’s voice, even if it’s only been a week. Soulmates are like home, the type of home Citron also wants from Guy; one he’s afraid to ask for in fear that there is no fate connecting them.

Longingly, Citron knows that the days of asking Guy about the beauty of jasmines are long behind them, and yet, he turns to him.

“Can I check?” Citron holds out a hand like he would for a handshake.

Guy’s hand is slightly warm. Under normal circumstances, there’s no way they’d ever shake hands—it’s too formal for Citron’s preferred way of doing things.

In the space of time before their hands separate, Citron steels himself for disappointment. When he checked as a child, he _knows_ there was nothing, not even the sliver that Chikage showed before they truly _knew._ Citron has always wanted everything, but here, at least, he should expect nothing.

His heart overflows with shock when he pulls back to reveal Citron’s signature green on Guy’s hand. Citron’s own mark, a handprint from _him._

Guy’s eyes also widen, and Citron grabs Guy’s hand back with both hands, grinning breathily.

“We were soulmates all along…” Citron can’t help but copy what he’s seen Spring Troupe do again and again, simply holding onto Guy and watching the colors on his skin. This time, it’s not quite as weak or easily fading; solid green of two different shades seems so natural on his palms.

“I don’t think so,” Guy says, and meets his eyes when Citron tears his away from their skin.

“What?” Citron’s heart nearly drops in his chest, buoyed only by his lingering excitement.

Guy smiles, and though it’s still not an expression Citron is used to seeing on his face, happiness wells up inside him regardless of the topic of conversation. “I didn’t realize anything back then. We weren’t soulmates; instead, we became soulmates when I found it in myself to _make_ us soulmates.”

Citron pauses, at that. Can they make soulmates, just like that? Is it possible that Guy’s feelings reached that far?

“That’s not in any of the books,” Citron says wryly, lips quirking upwards. “All that research, thrown away like that… You really are dense, Guy.” It’s a half-hearted insult, a remnant of the wish Citron had to connect with him in any way he could. Citron squeezes Guy’s hand, and then pulls back. His palm is all a beautiful deep green.

“No. It never needed to be in any of the books.” Guy looks at his own hand. He’s kind; full of the type of kindness that could stretch across oceans.

“I suppose not. Because you’d accept my friendship whether or not this happened, wouldn’t you?” Citron knows that as a child he longed for this moment, and now that it’s here—though he knows that even if they weren’t soulmates, he’d be happy regardless, and been able to find a way to accept it—he can’t help but feel himself tear up.

“Indeed,” Guy says, watching Citron wipe away the small tears he couldn’t imagine showing to people who aren’t his soulmates.

“I’m happy to hear that.” Citron smiles, and Guy smiles back. The marks on their hands don't fade, so Citron holds his hand out to Guy again. “Should we go back?”

Guy takes his hand.

Spring Troupe is waiting for him, when they step back inside, clamoring together to ask him where he’d been, though Masumi pretends he didn’t stand up to greet Citron, hanging in the back with Chikage, whose amused eyes are the first to find the fact that their hands are marked.

Sakuya is second, and his eyes soften, like he _knows_ how much this means to Citron. Maybe he does, because he grins so widely that his eyes crinkle with pure joy. “You’re soulmates! Congratulations!”

Citron lets go of Guy’s hand to show off. Itaru’s eyebrows raise, and Tsuzuru seems the most shocked—though not as much as Citron had been expecting from this sudden development—but all of them are smiling. The rest of the company, too, ushers him inside and congratulates him on finding another soulmate.

And, at last, Citron can show his love for every one of them openly and freely.


End file.
